Practice
by Amynion
Summary: Aramis had practice with musket wounds. Far too much...


**Note** : I'm feeling guilty for my terrible updating on Save the Gascon, so here's a little tidbit of something else as well *comes bearing fic as penance*

I wrote this a long time ago in response to some tumblr folk flailing over Aramis' care of Treville in "A Marriage of Inconvenience". Hope you enjoy :)

* * *

 **Practice**

Aramis felt an unwelcome rush of blood as they hurried Treville through to the table. He urged the men to be gentle as they lay the Captain down. Treville cried out when they moved him. It was a sound that set them all on edge. Their Captain was strong and steadfast to a fault, he shouldn't be breathing raggedly and bleeding out before them. Aramis leaned in and put his hands to Treville's back and shoulder. It was a small act of comfort, but he knew it would mean much more to the man on the table.

"Captain? Captain, it's Aramis. We're at the garrison."

It was important to let Treville know he was with friends and that he was safe. Aramis knew Treville's mind would be reeling with pain and confusion. He knew what it was to be left adrift.

Aramis had practice with musket wounds.

Far too much…

 **~oOo~**

 _Île de Ré, 1622…_

Something had gone wrong. That's all Aramis knew. They were pressing an attack, but something was wrong… A hail of gunfire, and then he was on his back in the dirt. Aramis' shoulder was a mess of pain. Men cried out all around him, shouts of those waging war merged with the agonised voices of the wounded and dying. Aramis just sucked in breath after breath, trying to stay conscious. Maybe he was one of them. Maybe he was dying. Aramis felt his shirt grow damp with blood seeping beneath his doublet. He couldn't feel his arm. Something told him that wasn't a good sign, but then a bitter copper tang took the air, and Aramis began to drift.

The light was failing when Aramis felt himself being pulled upright. Though it might have just been his dimming eyesight. The action drew a pained cry from Aramis' lips as it jarred his shoulder. His eyes rolled and refused to focus, so he let them close and tried to latch onto the voices instead. Men were talking all around him. Their voices rose and fell, ebbing away like waves on the shore. There were no words to be dredged from the depths. Aramis couldn't tell if he were in the hands of friend or foe. What if the enemy had him? What if he were being taken prisoner? Aramis tried to flail and get away, but his weak attempts were easily restrained by an even harder grip.

Jolts of pain took awareness from him for a time, but when he came back Aramis fought again. Hands held his arms and legs, stopping his struggles far too easily. When his head lolled to one side Aramis took in something of his surroundings. He realised there was something hard at his back. The suffuse glow of a lamp seemed to make shadows of the men around him. But his sight hadn't yet cleared either. No matter how much he blinked he could not make anything out.

There were voices now. Words, disjointed and far away, but words all the same.

"Musket ball… shoulder…"

"Still in there…"

"Hold him."

And then there was white hot agony. It went on forever.

"Can't get hold…"

"Keep him still!"

Despite the weakness plaguing his limbs Aramis found the strength to thrash against the men holding him down. He must have been in the hands of the enemy. He was being tortured! He wouldn't give in, he wouldn't give them what they wanted, whatever they wanted…

"Nearly got it…"

"Isabelle? Who's Isabelle?"

Aramis' reeling mind reached out for comfort. He was dimly aware of shooting his head up and calling out for his lost love.

"Damn, hold still boy!"

His head was roughly pushed back down. Aramis felt like a piece of meat being carved at by some butcher. Couldn't they have waited for him to die first?

And then it was over. The digging through his flesh ceased, though the fire still burned hotly in his shoulder. Fingers worked at it, pinching skin, pulling at the wound. Aramis tried to bat them away, but his hand was knocked to one side and he hadn't the strength to raise it again. Instead he lay there shaking helplessly. Afterwards a hand came to grab at his face. Aramis tried to flinch away, but it seized him about the jaw. Moments later it was gone, and the lamp light faded away with it.

Somewhere nearby the screaming started again.

 **~oOo~**

"Shh...sshhh…"

Aramis held Treville's head as they turned him over, and then he moved to wipe away the blood staining the Captain's face. He knew a gentle touch could ground and comfort men when their pained senses would let fear take flight.

If this was to be Treville's last few breaths, Aramis would not have him pass from this world in fear. He would make sure the Captain knew he was surrounded by family.

Back when Aramis fought at Île de Ré he had no family. He had just left his family behind, and the family he looked forwards to having had been cruelly taken away - The child dead, Isabelle gone. It was before Athos and Porthos had joined the regiment. Aramis had no brothers, he had made no meaningful ties to the men around him. That was yet to come. It left him alone, confused and fearful when he suffered.

He was determined Treville would not suffer the same.

Aramis leaned over to meet Lemay's eyes. "Are you sure this will work?"


End file.
